


When Tony Met Gibbs - Series 2

by Ytteb



Series: Tony and Gibbs Meeting [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 12:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21136721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: More stories about how Tony and Gibbs might have met - each story is complete in itself. I decided that the other series - 'When Tony Met Gibbs' had got a little unwieldy so decided on a new set.The stories play with canon - or pretty much ignore it!





	1. PI

“What you doing here, kid? I told you there’s nothing to see here.”

“I’m bored,” said the boy.

“Well, I’m not. Some of us have work to do, you know.” Even as he said this, Jethro Gibbs was aware that he was not being entirely truthful. The knowing raised eyebrow he saw on the boy’s face suggested that he was used to adults being _economical with the truth_.

“Huh,” said the boy, “You don’t look very busy,” he gazed around the empty office as if to prove his point.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” said Gibbs. As the words left his mouth he wondered when he had become his father – how many times had Jackson told him that things weren’t what they looked like? He bent his head to his non-existent paperwork as a means of dismissing the lad. As he gazed at a letter he was drafting he heard a thud as the boy flopped down on the chair in front of Gibbs’ desk. “I told you I’m busy,” he said, “Don’t have time for chatting.”

The boy sighed heavily in reply.

“Nice day like this, sun shining – you should be out getting some …_rays_,” Gibbs hauled the phrase from the depths of his brain.

Another sigh.

“You should be grateful, you know. One day you’ll wish you didn’t have to go to work and miss out on hanging out with your buddies.” In his mind’s eye, Gibbs could picture an outraged young Jethro shouting at him for being a hypocrite as he said all the words he had hated Jackson saying to him.

“Haven’t got any _buddies_,” came the morose reply.

“Well, you won’t make any here,” said Gibbs brusquely.

The boy’s green-grey eyes glittered for a moment with unshed tears and his mouth drooped even more, “All right, I’ll go,” he announced as he dragged himself to his feet.

Gibbs had never kicked a puppy but imagined that it would feel something like how he felt now. He held out until the boy reached the door,

“I don’t know your name,” he said.

The boy turned around, “Anthony D DiNozzo … Junior.”

“Excuse me?”

“Anthony D DiNozzo Junior. My dad’s Anthony D DiNozzo Senior.”

“And that’s what people call you?”

“Sure, it’s my name. Why wouldn’t they?”

“’cos the name’s longer than you are. Anyone call you Tony?”

“Nope.”

“Well, they do now. I’m going to call you Tony.”

“OK. Does that mean I get to call you Jethro?”

“No.”

“Oh, OK,” Tony hesitated by the door, unsure whether he was being invited to stay.

“Why don’t you have any friends around here?” asked Gibbs.

“We just moved here. Well, my Dad … Senior … moved here a couple months back but I just got here last week.”

“You didn’t move with your Dad?” Gibbs’ protective attitude towards children belatedly kicked in at the thought that Tony had somehow moved on his own, “Or were you with your Mom?” Gibbs pictured a separated or divorced couple sharing custody of Tony.

Tony sat back down on the chair and said, with a hint of defiance, “My Mom’s dead.”

“Oh, that sucks,” The _I’m sorry_ words remained unsaid, “My Mom’s dead too.”

“Duh … well, of course. You’re old.”

Gibbs blinked at the accusation but before he could think of a reply, Tony continued, “But it’s OK. It was like _years_ ago. I’m over it. We’re all _over it_.”

Gibbs nodded; somehow, he doubted that Tony was _over it_, “So why did your Dad move without you?”

“I’m at boarding school … didn’t finish until last week.”

“And that’s why you don’t have any friends around here?”

“Duh.”

Gibbs began to regret his friendly impulse, “Then why don’t you go make some more?” he asked letting his eyes drift down to his _busy work_.

“No point.”

“Why’s there no point?”

“I won’t be here long. I’ll have to go back to school again.”

“Well, you could make vacation friends,” suggested Gibbs.

Tony’s sigh was so deep it seemed to come from his stylish footwear, “No point. Senior’ll probably move again. Or he’ll send me to camp. I probably won’t be here again.”

“What about school? You got friends there?”

“Sure! I’m not a par- a parasite, you know.”

“Parasite? Who said you were a parasite?” asked a bewildered Gibbs.

“OK, that might not have been the right word,” admitted Tony, “But there’s something beginning with PAR that doesn’t have any friends.”

Gibbs frowned but his aptitude for crossword puzzles came to his rescue, “Pariah. You mean pariah.”

“Yeah, one of those. I’m not one.”

“Good to hear,” said Gibbs gravely, “So, are you meeting up with any of your buddies during the vacation?”

“Nope. They all live _miles _away. And there’s no point …”

“Why?”

“I won’t be seeing them again.”

“Why not? Did you fall out with them?”

“No! I’m a good friend. I know what _loyalty_ is.”

“OK, that’s good to know. Why won’t you be seeing them again if you get on so well with them?”

“I’m going to a different school next semester.”

“Huh. Your Dad wants you to go to a school closer to home?” suggested Gibbs. He could never have imagined sending Kelly away but, if he had, he would have chosen a school close by. The cynical laugh from the other side of the desk told he had made a wrong inference.

“I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Eh?”

“I sort of … well I was kinda _expelled_,” said Tony kicking his feet against the desk.

“Hey! Cut that out!”

“Sorry … didn’t mean to … I get fidgety …”

“So your Dad’s looking for somewhere else to send you?”

“I guess.”

“Maybe he’s looking for a school close by to send you. Maybe you won’t go away – he’ll keep you at home.”

The laugh came again, “He won’t want me at home – I’m too much trouble. It’s easier to write a cheque and send me somewhere so I can be someone else’s problem.”

“I’m sure he misses you, Tony,” said Gibbs hoping that, this time, he was speaking the truth.

“Yeah, sure,” said Tony dismissively.

“Have you talked to him about it?” asked Gibbs gently. He ignored the mental picture of his friends rolling their eyes in disbelief at the idea of Leroy Jethro Gibbs advocating the merits of _talking about things_.

“I can’t.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try,” said Gibbs with continued patience, “He might just be waiting to see what you have to say.”

“I can’t because Dad’s in Acapulco …”

“Acapulco?”

“Yeah, it’s in Mexico.”

“I know where it is,” said Gibbs stiffly, “What’s he doing in Acapulco?”

“He _says_ it’s a business trip …”

“But you don’t think it is?”

“Well,” said Tony as he tried to be fair, “He is probably doing some business – he’s always looking out for _opportunities_ – but I think he’s combining business with a lot of pleasure. And he might be on a honeymoon.”

“A honeymoon?”

“Yeah, one of those vacation things you have after you get married.”

“I know what a honeymoon is.”

“Oh, I just wondered. Seeing that you don’t wear a wedding band …”

Gibbs found himself reflexively rubbing the finger where a wedding band had once nestled, “You don’t have to be married to know what a honeymoon is.”

“Well, sure,” agreed Tony, “I mean, I know what one is, and I’m not married.”

“What makes you think your Dad’s on honeymoon? Did you go to the wedding?”

“No, he probably wouldn’t trust me not to screw something up. And he might not have got married, it was just something that Marguerite said.”

“Who’s Marguerite?”

“His PA. Well, that’s what he calls her but she’s like the housekeeper as well. She’s looking after me while Dad’s away …”

“Doesn’t seem to be doing it at the moment,” said Gibbs.

Tony shrugged, “She’s busy … and she knows that I’m old enough not to get into trouble. She’s cool.” He gazed at Gibbs with big innocent eyes.

“And she doesn’t know that you snuck out?” suggested Gibbs.

The shrug came again, “On some level she might not know,” he conceded.

“Your Dad didn’t think about taking you on the trip with him?”

Tony shook his head, “No. Me, Dad and trips don’t go well together.”

“How so?”

“He took me to Hawaii last year …”

“Sounds good.”

“Left me in the Maui Hilton for two days.”

“Excuse me?”

“It was meant to be a vacation, but an _opportunity_ came up. At least that’s what he told me it was,” the fleeting sad look in Tony’s eyes suggested he knew differently, “And he went back to the mainland and kinda forgot I was with him.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t too bad. I had fun ordering room service … watching pay to view …”

“He _forgot_ you were with him?” demanded Gibbs as he decided he didn’t want to know what Tony had been watching on pay to view TV.”

Tony shrugged the shrug again, “It’s OK. We had fun before he … left.”

Gibbs gazed at Tony and decided that perhaps the kid was better off being left behind in the care of what he hoped was a responsible adult.

“So,” said Tony, “How’s business?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the PI business. Although you know … and I’m not being rude or anything …”

“Go on …”

“You seem to say _excuse me_ a lot. If you’ve got hearing problems perhaps that’s why you’re not getting any business.”

“I haven’t got hearing problems,” insisted Gibbs.

“OK, if you say so. I was just saying … and you know, it could be to your advantage …”

“It could?” asked Gibbs almost despite himself.

“Sure. You know, if you were wearing an earpiece, you could disguise it as a hearing aid.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Gibbs solemnly, “And it takes a while …”

“What does?”

“Getting a business off the ground. Takes time to get known … build up trust …”

“I guess.”

“And I have had jobs,” Gibbs wondered why he was justifying himself to this kid – it’s not like it was Jackson sitting across from him. “I’m just waiting … I’ve got feelers out.”

“I reckon you’ll be OK,” said Tony confidently.

“Again, good to know – and what makes you think that?”

“’cos you’re trustworthy. You say you’re going to do something then it gets done.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know me.”

“I’ve been watching you, observing,” said Tony darkly.

Gibbs laughed, “You mean you’ve been hanging around here for days! Wasn’t exactly secret surveillance, was it?”

“Got to start somewhere,” said Tony sulkily.

“That’s true,” agreed Gibbs fighting the unusual sensation of wanting to laugh again. “And, from what you’ve observed, you’ve decided I’m trustworthy?”

“Sure.”

“What makes you sure?”

“My … I got a feeling in my tummy …”

“Could be gas,” said Gibbs unsympathetically.

“Not that type of feeling,” said Tony with dignity, “The kind you get when you know something is true …”

“You mean _your gut_ …”

“If you’re just going to laugh at me,” said Tony beginning to get up.

“No. No, I wasn’t laughing at you,” promised Gibbs, “I get that feeling too … in my gut. You’re kinda young though to know about stuff like that.”

“I figure … well, I love my Dad and all … but I reckon that the opposite of what he is, is probably all right. And you’re … well, you’re about as different to Senior as anyone could be.” He lifted his eyes somewhat defiantly to meet Gibbs’ blue stare.

“How old are you, Tony?”

“Thirteen.”

“So your Dad left you alone in Maui when you were twelve?” The anger flooded back.

“I guess. But it’s OK, nothing happened.”

“And nobody called your Dad on it? You know, leaving a kid on his own miles from home?”

The shrug was employed again, “My Dad usually skates. He says it’s important to be nice to people …”

“_So long as it’s not your son,” _muttered Gibbs to himself.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Hey, I’m going to the café for some lunch …”

“OK, I’ll get out of your hair,” said Tony resignedly, “And hey, what _is_ the deal with the hair?” Tony ran his hand over his own hair.

“What you mean? What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Oh man, where to start … hey, perhaps that’s what’s putting people off …”

“What?”

“Well, man – it’s kinda brutal. Maybe that’s what’s putting people off. You know, they think you’re an ex-con or something.”

“What makes you think people are being put off?” demanded Gibbs.

“Man, look around,” said Tony gesturing to the empty room, “I’ve been here like an _hour_ and nobody’s come in … and your phone hasn’t rung.”

Gibbs stared back stonily but couldn’t deny the truth of what Tony said. He decided to focus on another grievance, “What’s with calling me _man_?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“No.”

“Oh, then what should I call you? Sir?”

“Not sir,” Gibbs was about to add his customary rider about _working for a living_ but refrained as he felt certain Tony would call him on the accuracy of the statement, “Mr Gibbs will be fine,” he said.

“OK, man … I mean, Mr Gibbs. But what _is _the deal with the hair? You’re not an ex-con, are you? Not that I should judge. I mean, I’ve just been expelled … although I guess that’s not the same. But you get what I mean, I wouldn’t judge. And I’m sure you’re going straight now.”

“Thank you,” said Gibbs gravely, “This is how I wore my hair when I was in the service.”

“In the service?”

“I was a Marine.”

“Cool … I mean, it was cool, wasn’t it?”

It was highly unlikely that Gibbs would ever describe anything except the contents of his fridge as _cool,_ but he found himself nodding in agreement, “Yes, it was.”

“Did you kill anyone?” asked Tony ghoulishly.

“Yes.”

“Cool … oh well, I guess it wasn’t cool but _wow_, I’m sitting across from someone who’s actually killed people. What’s it like? Will you tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Huh. Grown-ups are never any fun.”

“You think hearing about killing people is _fun_?”

“Well, not _fun_ exactly, but it’s interesting.”

“Come on, like I said before, it’s lunch time.”

“Oh, yeah. Just when it was getting interesting. Hey man, I mean, Mr Gibbs, I’ll see you around?”

“Sure, but I thought you could come to lunch with me.”

Tony’s face lit up. “Really! You mean it? What am I saying? You’re a Marine, you never say anything you don’t mean,” he jumped up and raced to the door. He almost vibrated with excitement as Gibbs locked the door, “Hey, what’s your favourite Marines movie? I like …”

Gibbs tuned out the boy’s yabba yabba as they walked the short distance to the diner. Once they had found a booth and were looking at the menus, Gibbs interpreted Tony’s sudden silence, “My treat,” he said.

“Well,” said Tony suffering a sudden attack of conscience.

“Consider it payment,” said Gibbs.

“Payment? What for?”

“The business advice,” said Gibbs blandly.

Tony’s _gut_ didn’t seem to find anything wrong with this and he went back to perusing the menu. Gibbs realised being considered trustworthy was an asset when it came to lying.

“Hi, Tony,” said the motherly waitress. She leaned over and ruffled his hair before tugging at his tee shirt to straighten it.

Gibbs expected Tony to resist: he remembered his own impatience with being mothered when he was Tony’s age. Tony, however, smiled shyly and allowed her ministrations. Gibbs figured perhaps not having a mother meant that Tony took maternal kindness where he could find it.

Tony and Gibbs placed their orders and, shortly afterwards, Tony scooted off to the bathroom. Gibbs took the opportunity to speak to the waitress,

“You know Tony, Susie?”

Susie sighed, “Yes, he comes in most days. Hangs around, talks to people. Makes a chocolate milkshake last for hours. Sid – the owner – gives him a few bucks sometimes to clear tables but he’s too young for us to take him on properly. Nice kid. Lonely, I think.”

Gibbs nodded but didn’t say anything more as Tony was coming racing back.

“You know …” began Tony.

“I don’t talk when I’m eating,” said Gibbs sternly as he pointed to the plate in front of Tony, “Or listen,” he added when he saw that Tony was about to suggest that he’d talk while Gibbs listened.

Tony was increasingly in awe of Gibbs so he nodded obediently in a way his former teachers would have been astounded at.

The silence lasted until Tony had swallowed the last morsel of his burger and fries, “You know, I’ve got some other business ideas,” he announced.

“Yeah?” said Gibbs who was in a mellow mood after a second mug of excellent coffee.

“Yeah. I could ask around, I know people, you know.”

“Yeah?” there was a world of scepticism in Gibbs’ voice.

“And people around here might be glad to know there’s a tiptop PI around here …”

“Tiptop, eh?”

“Well, perhaps not yet,” mused Tony, “But one day …”

Gibbs hid his smile behind the mug of coffee, “Any more ideas?”

“Flyers.”

“What?”

“I could deliver flyers for you. Advertising.”

“Around here? Why would people around here need a private investigator?”

“I don’t know. TV’s always saying that crime is ripe …”

“Rife,” corrected Gibbs.

“Yeah, what you said … there’s a lot of it around. Everyone needs to know a PI. ‘cos the police are real busy and can’t always get to the scene of the crime.”

Silence fell and Tony seemed to droop, “But I know it’s a dumb idea …”

The _kicking of a puppy_ feeling returned as Gibbs looked at Tony’s forlorn figure and saw that he was already getting ready to go home to a place which didn’t feel like home. Gibbs remembered that Tony’s chatter had somehow filled an empty part of his heart,

“No, it’s not,” he said, “I reckon flyers are a good idea … so long as you’re up for delivering them?”

“You bet I am!” said Tony excitedly, “It’ll be _cool_! And I can get Marguerite to print them off for you … in like loads of different colours because she’s got this really cool printer! And she can do some curly fonts … it’ll be great!”

Tony spent the rest of the afternoon designing a flyer for the as yet unknowing Marguerite to produce on her state-of-the-art word processor. Gibbs spent the time composing a letter to a client in Nevada advising that he had been unable to trace her _no good two-timing waste of space of a husband._

XXXXXX

Gibbs blinked the next day at the sight of his flyers. They were undoubtedly multicoloured and _artistic_, they were also a little misshapen.

“Marguerite let me cut them up,” said Tony proudly.

“Ah,” said Gibbs as he realised why they were uneven. Somehow, he didn’t think Tony would ever be someone to sit patiently at a task, “Good job,” he praised.

Shortly afterwards, Tony ran off to do his deliveries. He was under strict instructions to return at lunch time and go with Gibbs to the diner. Tony had been ‘hired’ under the promise of a dollar a day plus meals – as the days passed, Gibbs began to hope that Tony’s appetite for food wasn’t going to be the straw which broke the fragile back of Gibbs’ business camel.

A few days after Tony had been co-opted as publicist and general gofer, Gibbs was sitting alone in the office and worrying. It was taking longer to get established than he had expected and, unless something happened soon, he was beginning to think he might have to take the job offered by Mike Franks of NIS although the allure of being his own boss was still compelling. He threw the latest bill on to the desk in disgust and sighed. He would have to admit that this wasn’t working out, swallow his pride and cut his losses. Decision made.

“Mr Gibbs?”

He looked up and saw that a middle-aged man had come in through the open door.

“Yes.”

“The private investigator?”

Gibbs sensed doubt in the man’s voice but, as he doubted it himself, decided not to take offence, “Yes,” he said again.

The man smiled, “Good. My company is having some problems with goods going missing in transit. We suspect that the robbers know when the items are being dispatched and using that information.”

“What do the police say?”

“The police are doing their best but … well, they don’t seem to be able to _crack the case_, as I believe the saying is.”

“I see.”

“And I’ve been told that you’re the person who can help us.”

“You have?”

“Yes, indeed. I understand that you are completely trustworthy and reliable. That sounds a good recommendation to me.”

“Mike Franks?”

“Excuse me?”

“NIS Agent Michael Franks. He recommended me?” Gibbs felt a warm glow in his heart at the thought that the irascible agent had looked out for him even though he had been disappointed when Gibbs had turned down his offer of employment the year before.

“I’m afraid not, I don’t know anyone called Mike Franks. And I don’t know what NIS is. No, the recommendation came from another source.”

Gibbs decided it didn’t matter, “And what are the goods that are being stolen?” he asked.

“Diamonds.”

_“Diamonds_!” Gibbs revised his thoughts of a small trader suffering petty thefts.

“Yes, I am managing director of a chain of jewellers specialising in bespoke high value items. You will understand that we import diamonds on a regular basis and the losses are most disturbing. Do you think you can help us?”

“You want _me_ to help you? Isn’t this a job for some big high-powered company?”

“Don’t you think you can help us? I’ll understand if you’re too busy … after all, a _tiptop_ PI like you must be in demand.”

A penny dropped in Gibbs’ mind, “Who was it who recommended me?”

There was a twinkle in the man’s eye, “My card,” he handed one to Gibbs, “My name is Clive Paddington. Anthony DiNozzo is my great-nephew. I’m here in New York to deal with these problems with the American branch and I went to see Anthony,” he pursed his lips disapprovingly, “Although I suppose I should not have been surprised to find my nephew by marriage absent. Anyway, no matter. Young Anthony – who now prefers to go by _Tony_ – was full of his new _employer._ So I thought I would come and make myself known to the person who has been so kind to my young relative.”

Fledgling hope died in Gibbs’ heart, “So it wasn’t a job offer?” he said bleakly.

“What? Oh, yes, of course it is.”

“But why? Tony must have told you that the business isn’t exactly …”

“Thriving? Quite so. Considering his upbringing, Tony is, most of the time, very honest – except when he is prone to exaggeration …”

“And you’re not worried that he’s exaggerating now?”

Paddington turned a level gaze on Gibbs, “No, I’m not. Anthony is, I believe, a good judge of character. I fear he has had to learn to be. Now, I know he does not always make good decisions, but he is young and, often, on his own. I trust that he has seen something to be relied on in you. He told me that you were the complete opposite of his father. I fear, Mr Gibbs, that, in my books, that makes you good and reliable. Tell me, do you think that you are capable of doing this job for me?”

“Yes. But …”

“Mr Gibbs, there is no need for _buts_. I am willing to stake something on this venture. If I am proved wrong … well, I do not believe that the cost will be too great and, if I am proved right – or rather, Tony is proved right – then I believe we will all be winners. Well, apart from the malefactors, of course but I cannot bring myself to be too concerned for them.”

“Eh?”

“Do we have an agreement that you will try to solve our problem, Mr Gibbs? I’m sure I do not need to say to you that a successful conclusion to this enterprise will be of great benefit to your future endeavours.”

“What?”

“Word will get around, Mr Gibbs. My company is very prestigious – other companies will be beating a path to your door when they hear of your success.”

Gibbs pulled himself together enough to stand up and offer his hand, “We have ourselves a deal.”

“Excellent. I will arrange for my head of security to get in touch. Goodbye, Mr Gibbs.”

“Thank you, Mr …” Gibbs took a look at the card, “… Paddington.”

“No, Mr Gibbs, thank _you_.” Gibbs’ newest client touched his hat and left.

XXXXXX

Can it be doubted that Gibbs PI solved the case? That other firms did indeed beat a path to his door? That the firm grew and expanded until it became one of the largest in New York with branches in Washington and Chicago? No, it can’t be doubted.

And do not doubt either, that Jethro Gibbs and Tony DiNozzo maintained a friendship – through broken legs, shattered dreams, three divorces and other vicissitudes – which was even more valuable to them than the diamonds Gibbs had traced all those years before.

And Gibbs was always grateful that he hadn’t turned that young boy away all those years ago … and that he and Tony had each discerned something worthwhile in the other. 

Even if they continued to disagree about Gibbs’ haircut!


	2. In the McGee apartment

“Are you sure about this, Abby?” asked Tim McGee nervously as he and Abby walked into his apartment.

“Of course, Timmy, it’s going to be g-r-e-a-t,” said Abby Sciuto enthusiastically.

“Huh,” said Tim a little gloomily as he remembered other things which Abby had asserted would be _great_. If only he could learn to resist her big eyes … and surprisingly aggressive punches … and the teasing about where her latest tattoo had been placed, “I don’t know …”

“It will be company for you,” said Abby firmly, “And how could you resist this little cutie?” She squeezed the puppy she was clasping to her bosom. The puppy, apparently not appreciating how lucky it was, gave a little yip at being held so firmly. “Ooh, did I scare you,” cooed Abby as she lifted the little dog so she could gaze into its eyes before bestowing a kiss on its head.

Tim shook his head as he tried to dispel memories of when Abby had held _him_ so close and gazed so lovingly into his eyes. No, they were better off as they were … and besides, who knew what chaos Abby would lead him into if they were still an item? There was enough mayhem in Special Agent McGee’s life when he and Abby were simply _friends._

“I don’t know …” he tried again, “I mean, what will Jethro think?”

“Jethro will _love_ him,” said Abby sternly, “They’ll be company for one another.”

Tim felt his mind was stuck on a loop, “I don’t know … Jethro is …” Tim struggled as he tried to explain what Jethro was but, despite a review of his novel which had admired his mastery of words, he found himself struggling for the right ones to convey the _Jethroness _of Jethro.

“Where _is_ Jethro?” asked Abby as she looked around the apartment – the _ground floor_ apartment Tim had had to move to once he had acquired Jethro.

“Out, I guess. He really is the cat who walks by himself, you know.”

Abby waved an admonitory finger as much as she could without jiggling the puppy too much, “Well, you haven’t been doing the socialising exercises that I gave you. You should be getting him to make friends, you know. Make playdates for him.”

There was much about Abigail Sciuto that Tim didn’t understand but the suggestion that he should be arranging _playdates_ for Jethro indicated afresh the gulf in the ways in which their minds worked.

“If you don’t think I’m looking after him right, then perhaps you should take him,” he suggested.

“I wouldn’t do that,” said Abby in horror, “It would be too traumatic for both of you.”

Tim sighed; he hadn’t expected that the appeal would work but he tried another track, “You know, if you’re so concerned about me not making friends for Jethro then perhaps you should take the puppy … you know, I’m sure you’d be better for him than I would.” Tim tried the effect of puppy dog eyes.

“But you’re the one with the ground floor apartment and the yard,” said Abby, “It’s perfect for a puppy.”

“But it’s a _small_ apartment,” argued Tim, “There’s barely room for me and Jethro … and add in a puppy …”

“Nonsense. Besides he’s only a small puppy. Aren’t you, my little puppy-wuppy?” she cooed once more to the dog.

Tim looked sceptically at the puppy’s large feet but knew that further argument was futile, “But it’s just until you find someone else? Understood?”

“Yes, of course …” but Abby didn’t _cross her heart and hope to die_ so Tim was doubtful about this. At least, with both arms full of dog, she was unable to cross her fingers although Tim wouldn’t be surprised if she was somehow managing to cross her toes under cover of her Doc Martens.

“What type of dog do you think he is?” asked Tim as he looked at the shaggy bundle in his friend’s arms.

“I don’t know,” said Abby, “Apart from being a real cutie,” she kissed the puppy once more.

“Cute?” said Tim doubtfully.

Abby turned outraged eyes on Tim, “Timothy McGee! Are you being _lookist_?”

“Am I being what-ist?”

“Lookist. Are you judging this poor little abandoned mite on his _looks_?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I? You’ve got to admit he’s not exactly … good-looking …”

Abby gasped and managed to put a hand over the puppy’s ears, “Don’t you listen to McGrumpy … he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’re a handsome boy, aren’t you?”

Tim forbore to point out that the puppy wouldn’t be able to hear the compliment with Abby’s hand over his ears … and wouldn’t understand even if he could hear. His life was complicated enough without getting mired in a discussion about how much his canine guest understood about what was going on.

The MCRT team had, in the course of another investigation, come across the remnants of a puppy farm. The sorry looking (in Tim’s opinion) dog currently residing in Abby’s arms had been the only occupant left as apparently nobody wanted the little creature. Unfortunately (in Tim’s opinion) Abby had learned of the puppy’s existence and had insisted that he could not be left to the mercies of an animal shelter. McGee had put up a spirited resistance to the idea that _he_ should take charge of the puppy but, as he had previously been persuaded (aka terrorised) into taking Jethro the cat, the resistance had been futile and he was now the (temporary, in Tim’s opinion) guardian of an odd looking puppy.

“He can go in Jethro’s basket,” said Tim, deciding to move things along.

“But it’s _Jethro’s_ basket,” protested Abby, “You don’t want to get their relationship off to a bad start. You don’t want Jethro to feel that your new friend is usurping his position; you don’t want to make him doubt your love for him …”

The words _relationship, usurp _and _love_ all made Tim feel a little nauseous, but it had been a long day and he didn’t want to argue, “He never sleeps in it,” he said flatly.

“Ahh,” said Abby, “He prefers to sit on your lap, does he?”

“Sometimes,” lied Tim, “But mostly he prefers that lumpy chair.” Abby opened her mouth to protest that Tim should get Jethro a comfortable chair, but Tim forestalled her, “Why not put him in the basket?”

Abby frowned but remembered that it was bowling night with the nuns and that she’d be in trouble if she was late, “OK. But we need to think of a name for him.”

“We do?”

“Of course.”

“Why of course?”

“Having a name will make him feel wanted … and loved.”

The nausea returned, “But won’t it confuse him when he goes to his new home and they change his name?” asked Tim hopefully and cunningly.

It was a good argument, but one which Abby ignored, “Tony,” she announced, “We’ll call him Tony.”

“Tony?”

“Tony.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

“I guess. What do you want to call him?”

Tim did a hasty calculation and decided that it would be better to accept Abby’s suggestion than to make one of his own which could lead to her deciding that he wanted the dog after all, “Fine, Tony it is.”

Abby placed _Tony_ in the basket, “Stay! Good boy! Stay!” she patted him firmly, “Stay.”

Tony looked up at her in bewilderment, turned around three times before lying down and promptly falling asleep: like Tim, he had had a long day.

“Oh, bless,” sighed Abby, “I’ll just pop out to the car and get his stuff. You stay here … don’t want him to feel abandoned, do we?”

Tim shook his head helplessly and watched as Abby made two journeys to her car to get the various items she had decided were essential when they had stopped off at the pet store on their way to Tim’s apartment, “I hope we got enough,” she said anxiously when she had brought everything in.

As most of the sofa was piled high with packages, Tim thought it was a fair bet that he enough to supply an entire dog shelter … and he toyed, unworthily, with the idea that he could perhaps bribe one to take Tony along with all his paraphernalia.

Tony managed to sleep through all of Abby’s unpacking and her exaggeratedly quiet departure. As the door closed gently behind her, Tim breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at the slumbering puppy and thought that perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad after all.

He looked up as the cat flap door swished open and shut and Jethro arrived. Tim held his breath. Actually, holding his breath was something that Tim did frequently when he and Jethro were in the same room. Jethro was a silvered American Shorthair cat – well, according to Abby he was a pedigree rather than some other type of cat – large, powerful and in the peak of condition. He was also, as Tim had pointed out, the cat who walked by himself. He occasionally wrapped himself around Tim’s legs but that was usually if Tim had become absorbed in an on-line game and forgotten to feed him. He had a cool blue gaze which he frequently turned on Tim and which Tim fought not to squirm under. Tim could never imagine calling himself Jethro’s _owner_ – he was pretty clear about who was in charge in the McGee household.

“Hey, Jethro,” he said, “We’ve got … er … we’ve got a houseguest … just temporary … and you don’t use that basket, do you?” Tim was an experienced federal agent and rarely stammered now while on duty, but he had to admit that he was babbling as he tried to reconcile Jethro to the new arrival.

Jethro was a formidable hunter who, fortunately for Tim’s peace of mind, rarely brought his prey home – he saw no need to ingratiate himself with the provider of food and shelter. The way Jethro paced towards the basket reminded Tim of the way the cat stalked unwary birds. Tim felt he should warn Tony of his peril but, as so often with Jethro, he found himself fascinated to see what would happen.

Jethro hissed softly when he reached the basket. Tony raised his head and gazed into the blue eyes. Jethro hissed again but Tony seemed to have no sense of self-preservation – he scrambled to his feet – and why, wondered Tim, did it look as if he had seven legs – and nudged Jethro in a friendly way. One of Jethro’s front paws snapped out and hit Tony between the ears. Tony blinked, sat back down on his haunches and looked around in a bewildered fashion. The paw shot out again and caught him on the nose. This time, Tony got the message and hopped out of the basket. Jethro stalked past him and settled down ostentatiously in the basket he usually despised.

Tim picked Tony up and inspected him for damage but decided that the way that Tony was licking his hand suggested that no lasting damage had been done. He remembered that Abby had bought Tony a basket of his own, so he unearthed it from the pile on the sofa and, strategically, placed it at a good distance from Jethro. He put Tony in the basket and he, obligingly, turned around three times and went straight to sleep. Until Jethro batted him around the head and evicted him.

Tim laughed and decided to leave them to it.

Later on, Tim decided it was time to feed his menagerie. He put Jethro’s food down first and wasn’t surprised that Tony had already decided that it was best to leave the cat’s food alone. When Jethro had finished, Tim put Tony’s food down but, before Tony could get to it, Jethro sat in front of the bowl and sniffed at the food. Tony sat down obediently at a distance and waited … and waited … and waited until finally Jethro, having established who was boss, stepped away and let Tony eat his dinner.

Tim laughed again.

Jethro took possession of Tony’s basket that evening, leaving Tony to his own discarded bed. Tim decided that was fine for the moment as Tony wasn’t much bigger than Jethro, but it might be a problem when he grew into his feet. Not that it mattered, Tim told himself sternly – Tony wouldn’t be his problem by the time he had outgrown Jethro’s bed.

Jethro was never a restless animal, preferring to sleep or stare fixedly at Tim. It turned out that Tony was also quiet – probably a result of living in a puppy farm where he had to stay where he was put. Tim went off to bed happily enough, thinking that Jethro and Tony would happily ignore each other all night.

While Tim settled down in bed and tried to think of a strategy to convince Abby to let him pass Tony on to someone else, the cat and the dog looked at one another. Tony hopped out of ‘his’ bed and ambled over to Jethro who stared back. Tony wagged his tail. Jethro stared back. Tony inched a little closer. Jethro continued to stare but didn’t stop Tony from edging closer … and closer until he had climbed into the bed, turned around three times and then flopped down and went to sleep. Jethro delivered a gentle cuff around the ears before settling down to sleep as well.

The night passed. When Jethro heard Tim wake up and go to the bathroom, he nudged Tony awake. The puppy sighed but jumped out of the shared bed and wandered over to the smaller bed.

Tim looked through the door slightly warily, wondering what chaos might be revealed but was pleasantly surprised to see both animals quietly asleep. In fact, it was unusual for Jethro to be indoors as he often went out hunting or prowling overnight. Tim put Jethro’s food down first and was amused to see that, when Tony’s breakfast was put down, the cat did the same as he had the night before and made Tony wait.

Tony and Jethro, in Tim’s presence, stayed aloof from one another although it was clear that Jethro had the upper hand. Tim got permission to work from home for a few days to allow him to test the extent of Tony’s house training and to get his inoculations in place.

Tony turned out to be biddable and gentle although Tim suspected that he would also be stubborn. The puppy had decided that Jethro was leader of the McGee pack but, as Tim suspected he was right, he didn’t try to usurp Jethro. Jethro largely ignored Tony although Tim noticed that he didn’t go out on the prowl as much as before. Tim was not to know that Tony continued to snuggle up to Jethro at night or that, when Tim took Tony for a walk, Jethro sat in the window waiting for them to return.

Tim still didn’t think that Tony was a good-looking dog but Abby, after some research, was delighted to tell Tim that she had discovered that he was a Spinone Italiano.

“A what-ee?” asked Tim.

Spinone Italiano – it’s an Italian breed.”

“Could’ve guessed that,” muttered Tim.

Abby was in full flow and didn’t even notice the interruption, “It’s an Italian dog – and they sound lovely – you’re so lucky …”

Tim tried to cut in to offer Abby the chance of having Tony for herself, but she swept on, “I think he’s probably brown roan … I’ll send all the information I’ve found. You can read up.”

“Abby … I’m meant to be working … not reading up about …” but the line had gone dead and Tim realised that, yet again, he had been outmanoeuvred. He bent down to where Tony had come to sit at his feet, “Hmm, so you’re Italian, are you. Guess that explains why you like that squeaky toy pizza!”

Tony obligingly chewed down on the pizza and Tim smiled at the noise. Jethro maintained his position on his new bed and didn’t react to the noise of squeaky pizzas.

A week passed and Tim began to think less about letting either of his pets go: for this he was mostly grateful to Jethro who, he felt, kept Tony in line. Tony’s puppiness, although fairly restrained, was enough to amuse Tim and somehow dilute the effect of Jethro’s cool gaze. Tim began to pride himself on the smooth running of his enlarged household but resolved to keep his success quiet lest Abby find him yet another orphan to care for.

Ten days after Tony’s arrival, there was a knock at Tim’s door but, before he could answer it, Special Agents Jethro Gibbs and Anthony DiNozzo strode in.

“McDrDoolittle!” said DiNozzo cheerfully.

“McGee,” said Gibbs more temperately.

“Boss! DiNozzo,” replied Tim, “Back from that conference?”

“Sharp as ever, McPerspicacious,” replied Tony before subsiding under Gibbs’ stern eye, “Yes, got back yesterday. Abby told us about the new arrival.”

DogTony was more confident now and came up to investigate the newcomers although he stayed a respectful distance from Gibbs while allowing humanTony to stroke him a little inexpertly – he didn’t mind, it turned out that dogTony loved attention.

“How’s Jethro taking to the new arrival?” asked DiNozzo.

“Fine. Tony knows who’s in charge – Jethro made sure of that. They pretty much ignore each other,” said Tim.

“Huh, is that so?” asked DiNozzo.

“Yep. Jethro turfed Tony out of the bed we got him and makes him wait for permission to eat.”

“Huh,” said DiNozzo.

“Yeah. Pretty much like it is at work, DiNozzo,” said Tim, “Tony does what Jethro tells him.”

“Is that so?” said DiNozzo.

“Sounds about right,” said Gibbs with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eye, “Hey Tim, I need you to come back to the office.”

“Boss?”

“Can’t get my computer to work. IT guys are tied up.”

“_They’re all too scared to come down,”_ whispered DiNozzo, absentmindedly pulling Tony’s ears through his fingers.

“OK, Boss … but I don’t like to leave the puppy on his own. I’ve got a sitter coming from tomorrow to look in on him. Could it wait till tomorrow?”

“Nope. DiNozzo will dog sit for you.”

“I will?” asked DiNozzo.

“Yep,” Gibbs and Jethro turned twin cool gazes on DiNozzo.

“I will,” affirmed DiNozzo, “Huh,” he muttered when Tim and Gibbs had left, “Looks like history repeating itself. You and me - numero due …” 

The puppy seemed to sense a little uncertainty and went to collect his squeaky pizza toy and laid it at DiNozzo’s feet, obviously hoping for a game of tug. DiNozzo sighed and looked across to where Jethro sat, gazing at the two Tonys.

DiNozzo stared back. He looked at the toy, “Huh … don’t think those are all _your_ toothmarks, Tonio,” he got up and looked at the bed. Jethro gazed back placidly. “And those brown hairs aren’t yours, Boss – I mean, Jethro.” He closed his eyes briefly and decided he could picture Jethro and Tony playing tug with the pizza and that he could see dog and cat snuggled up together at night. And was it wishful thinking, or could he discern benevolence in the way that the cat looked at the puppy?

DiNozzo grinned, “Don’t think things are quite as you think, McDogowner!” Perhaps, mused DiNozzo, the cat/puppy dynamic in Tim’s apartment was like that of Boss/Senior Field Agent. And perhaps, as a reminder of that, DiNozzo would pay the Boss a visit for cowboy steaks that night. 

He threw the squeaky pizza for Tony to fetch … oops, he hoped the Star Wars figurine that fell to the floor as the puppy skidded into the bookshelves wasn’t too valuable!


	3. Baltimore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning – this is probably not a story for Gibbs fans …
> 
> And a warning that there are spoilers for the season 8 episode ‘Baltimore’ in which we discovered how Gibbs recruited Tony after a case he worked in Baltimore which ended up with Tony finding out that his partner Danny Price was corrupt.

Detective DiNozzo waved a sketchy farewell as he walked out of the squad room. He was looking forward to a beer or three, pizza from Luigi’s, the phone off the hook and a chance to process the events of the last few days.

“Where the hell have you been?” came an irritated voice he had become all too familiar with recently.

“What?”

“I told Officer Doddery to send you out,” said Special Agent Jethro Gibbs of Naval Criminal Investigative Service or, as Tony secretly named him, _Navy Guy_.

“You mean Officer Dockery,” said Tony as he translated Gibbs’ meaning.

“Whatever,” said Gibbs, “I told him to send you out …” he looked at his watch, “30 minutes ago.”

“Huh,” yawned Tony.

Gibbs’ eyes narrowed and he stepped forward into Tony’s personal space. Tony resisted the temptation to take a step back and he looked Gibbs in the eye. Gibbs leaned forward and made a jabbing motion with his finger,

“You’re mine now,” he said menacingly.

Tony blinked, “Oh, gosh,” he said, “I guess I’m flattered but … well … I’m sorry if you’ve got the wrong impression but well, I don’t really _swing_ that way.”

For a microsecond Gibbs’ jaw dropped open in shock but the following microsecond his hand shot out and delivered a sharp head slap.

“Ow!” exclaimed Tony as he rubbed the back of his head ruefully, “And you know, despite what you might have read in the station bathroom, I’m really not into the whole SM scene. Admittedly I wore black leather to the Halloween party but …”

“Idiot!” snapped Gibbs as he interrupted Tony’s ramble.

Tony’s amiable smile slipped momentarily before he hefted his backpack slightly and went to walk past Gibbs, “Well, it’s been an experience, Special Agent Gibbs.”

“Hey! I haven’t finished!” barked Gibbs.

“I think you have, Special Agent.”

“You know what I want … and you sure as hell know what I _don’t _want.”

“Well, I must admit I was a bit surprised when I thought you were coming on to me … I’m usually pretty good at picking up on things like that. But I could have been wrong – after all, you could just have been really, really overcompensating for something.” Tony smiled again although it was a smile lacking its usual warmth.

“We worked well together,” said Gibbs in a more temperate tone.

Tony’s eyes lost focus as he considered the previous few days.

_Special Agent Jethro Gibbs had shouldered his way into the Baltimore Police Department’s investigation of the murder of George Franklin which he suspected was linked with the case he was investigating of Navy Lieutenant Ian Floyd’s involvement with money laundering out of Quantico._

_If he was being kind, Tony would have said Gibbs was confident but, as he ran rings around them in their investigation and flaunted the superior resources at the disposal of NCIS, he thought it would be more accurate to say he was arrogant. Somehow, Tony didn’t think Agent Gibbs was a naturally cheerful person, but he managed to wear a smug smile for a lot of the time he spent with the Baltimore detectives._

_Tony wondered if he would have felt differently if his introduction to Gibbs had not involved being punched in the face. He also wondered, slightly wistfully, what would have happened if he’d shot the agent in self-defence …_

“Hey!” barked Gibbs as he noticed that the Baltimore detective seemed to have gone off into a happy reverie.

“Oh, sorry,” apologised Tony, “Just thinking pleasant, soothing thoughts – you know. Or perhaps you don’t, is the divorce getting to you, Agent Gibbs?” he asked with false sympathy.

“None of your business,” snapped Gibbs, “What do you say?”

“About what?”

“You know what!”

“Agent Gibbs, it’s been a long week. Maybe you’re used to weeks like this … but I’m not. So, why don’t we just say goodbye, agree that we worked well together and that you got your man … and leave it at that.” Tony held out his hand to be shaken.

“I don’t leave things unfinished,” said Gibbs sternly.

“Well, I’d certainly think that things are finished here,” said Tony bleakly.

“Exactly,” said Gibbs emphatically.

“You’re not giving up on this … whatever _this_ is, are you?” asked Tony wearily.

“Not so you’d notice,” said Gibbs ferally.

“OK, then as you suddenly seem to want to talk … and believe me, _I_ don’t want to talk – which is kinda unusual for me – then you can buy me a drink,” he winked salaciously, “You can woo me.”

Gibbs huffed in annoyance but managed to resist the temptation to deliver another wake-up head slap, “Where?”

“Not around here,” said Tony firmly, “Don’t want to run into any of the other guys tonight. You drive – I’ll tell you where to go.”

Gibbs’ co-workers, had they been close by, would have warned Tony of the foolishness of these suggestions. First, they would have told him that nobody, but nobody told Gibbs where to go and secondly, they would have firmly advised him of the danger inherent in letting Gibbs drive. Alas, the co-workers were safely, and peacefully, in DC so Tony had no idea what he was letting himself in for.

“Take a left,” he instructed as he sat in the car, “I said, take a left! Why didn’t you take a left?”

“Looked too busy on the left.”

“Huh. Oh, OK, take the next right. Hey, not _that_ right! I was giving you some warning,” gasped Tony as he recovered from the immediate turn Gibbs had made.

“Don’t need any warning,” said Gibbs, “I’ve got good reflexes.”

Tony hunkered down a little in his seat and checked the seatbelt was holding him in place. He hoped that none of the drivers who were still furiously sounding their horns had recognised him. Tony’s knowledge of Baltimore was extensive so he knew that there was a bar a mile or so down the road they were currently travelling – it was more expensive than the one he’d planned to direct Gibbs to but he decided that Gibbs needed to be punished and that there was the added advantage that the journey to the drinking place didn’t require any more turns.

Tony relaxed slightly as they hurtled along but then found himself flung against the seatbelt as Gibbs swung off to the left and screeched to a halt in the carpark of a rundown diner.

“What? I didn’t tell you to stop …”

“It was taking too long,” said Gibbs, “Want to get back to DC tonight. And I need food.”

Tony didn’t fight battles he didn’t need to – and which he had no prospect of winning – so he followed Gibbs who was already striding purposefully through the diner door. Gibbs flung himself down in a vacant booth – Tony couldn’t help but notice that he’d chosen a spot with excellent sight lines of the available exits. He also couldn’t help but notice the grease marks on the cracked leatherette seats and the stains on the floor.

“What you want?” asked Gibbs.

“Well,” said Tony pleasantly, “_Salmonella_ is a pretty name, but I don’t want to get too acquainted, so I reckon I’ll have a pack of ginger snaps and a bottle of water.”

“What he said,” said Gibbs to the spotty teenager who had slouched over to take their order, “And I’ll have coffee and a bacon sandwich with fries.”

“_Guess it’s your funeral_,” muttered Tony. He didn’t sound too upset at the prospect.

A stony silence prevailed while they awaited their order. Tony reflected that stony silences were probably not unusual with Gibbs but, as his mind was in turmoil, he decided to leave the silence unbroken.

“Huh,” he said as he bit into the first ginger snap.

“Huh?” asked Gibbs, “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“Reminds me of being carsick,” said Tony.

Gibbs frowned at both this comment and the soft smile on Tony’s face.

“My mom used to keep these in the car,” continued Tony, “I got carsick a lot as a kid, so we got through a lot of packets.”

“You still get carsick?”

“Not so much … so long as I sit in the front … and don’t get driven by someone who auditioned for the chariot race in _Ben Hur_.”

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d want to be reminded of being carsick,” commented Gibbs.

Tony took another bite of cookie and let the taste take him back to his childhood, “Yeah, you’d think, wouldn’t you?” he mused. Gibbs was right, he _didn’t_ want to be reminded of being sick but he also remembered the way his mom had looked after him, hadn’t made a fuss or made him feel a nuisance – and the car was always well stocked with ginger snaps which she insisted would settle his stomach and make him feel better. Another memory stirred in his mind, _“Darling, it’s always better to make friends than enemies.”_

Tony swallowed his mouthful and held out his hand, “Agent Gibbs, we got off to a bad start. How do you do, it’s nice to meet you.”

Gibbs stared at the detective for a second or two before shrugging and grasping the hand, “Detective DiNozzo.”

Tony touched his bottle of water to Gibbs’ mug in a toast, “New beginnings.”

“You know what I want,” said Gibbs in a milder tone. He suspected that DiNozzo could not be pushed but might be … not cajoled, that wasn’t in Gibbs’ emotional armoury, but _persuaded._”

“I’ve got an idea,” confessed Tony, “But I think I need for you to spell it out. I’ve been wrong about things like this before.”

“I want you to come and work with me at NCIS.”

“Why?”

“You’ve seen the resources we have – they put what you’ve got in Baltimore to shame. Better working conditions, probably better pay and the chance to work on bigger things.”

“And working with you?” asked Tony without any suggestion of irony.

“Yep.”

“But why?”

“Why what? You’d be working for me because I work at NCIS and you’d be on my team.”

“Huh,” said Tony, “First time you agreed I’d be working _with_ you but the next time you said _for_ me. There’s a difference.”

“You’d be on my team. Of course, you’d be working _for _me; for me, with me – what’s the difference? You didn’t seem to have a problem over the last few days.”

Tony laughed, “Yeah, because the last few days have been _great_. And of course, I worked with you … for you … it’s what I was told to do. And it had certain advantages.”

“What?”

“You said it yourself, Agent Gibbs, the resources you had meant that we solved the case quicker. And you had some useful ideas. Of course, I worked with you; it was to our advantage.”

Gibbs’ eyes narrowed as he considered Tony’s interpretation of the way they had worked together but he decided not to challenge him.

“But I still don’t understand _why_,” said Tony.

Gibbs sighed, this was all taking longer than he’d expected, “What don’t you understand?”

“Why you’re offering me a job.”

“I have a rule, don’t waste good,” said Gibbs brusquely, “And you’re good.”

“Wow. Well, I didn’t expect that,” confessed Tony.

“Well, don’t expect it too often,” warned Gibbs, “I don’t coddle my agents.”

Tony almost choked, “Somehow, I don’t have any problem believing that, Agent Gibbs.”

Gibbs raised a hand to order more coffee, “Like I said, you’re bright. Catch on quick. I can use that.”

“But why now?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, why ask me this quick? What’s the hurry? Could’ve waited until you got back to DC … do a background check on me.”

“No need.”

“Oh. Should I be flattered?” Tony stared at Gibbs, “Oh, I get it. You’ve already done a check … or more likely got some poor shmuck to do one.”

Gibbs shrugged again, “No point wasting time.”

“I still don’t get what the hurry is,” mused Tony. Gibbs gazed back blandly. Tony thought for a moment or two before exclaiming, “Oh, I get it! You think the moment’s right.”

The shrug came again, “Figured you might be _exploring_ your options. Thought I’d let you know what one of them is.”

Tony’s eyes were suddenly sad as he remembered the reason he’d been looking forward to a peaceful night in. In the to-and-fro with Gibbs, he’d forgotten what he had discovered about his partner Danny Price.

“You gonna deny it?” asked Gibbs, “Detective Price is a dirty cop.”

“Thanks, I got that,” said Tony bitterly.

“And what he did was wrong, way wrong – but he’s your partner.”

“And he’s a good cop … I mean, he’s a good detective. He was my first partner when I made detective. He taught me how to do the job.”

“Important to have a good partner. To have his back.”

“You think that’s important?”

“Got to back your partner.”

“Even if he does something wrong?”

“You said he’s good at his job. Nobody’s perfect.”

“Is that you expect of a partner? Having your back, whatever?”

Gibbs shrugged, “Can’t tell you what to do, DiNozzo.”

“But he did something that was wrong,” said Tony still thinking aloud.

“You can’t always judge,” said Gibbs slowly, “Sometimes you have to do what you think is right even if other people don’t agree with you.”

“You said you had a rule about not wasting good,” said Tony, “Somehow I’m guessing you have other rules too.”

“A few,” admitted Gibbs.

“Are they the same as NCIS rules?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I like to think they’re _complementary_.”

“I think you’re a devious man, Agent Gibbs.”

“It’s been said.”

“And when your rules don’t jibe with NCIS rules … do yours take priority?”

“Decisions have to be made quickly. Judgements made. I trust my judgement.”

“And you need other people to trust them too?”

“That’s what being a team is about.”

“And you expect your team to follow you even if … well, even if it might not be … legal?”

“You’re in law enforcement, DiNozzo. You’re not naïve. You know that sometimes the rules have to be … interpreted.”

“By you?”

Gibbs shrugged.

“Agent Gibbs, have you ever done something … illegal? That might need your team to follow you despite that?”

Gibbs gazed back stonily.

“No, I guess you’re not going to answer that, Agent Gibbs.” Tony rubbed his forehead as he tried to come to terms with the conversation, “You know, I get what you mean … about walking away, starting afresh. Not turning Danny in … ‘cos I do owe him a lot; he’s been a good friend.”

“Then that’s settled,” said Gibbs, “Put in your notice. I’ll see you at the Navy Yard when your time here is up.”

“And I get what you say about the importance of being loyal to your partner. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

“Good.”

“Or at least, I _thought_ it was all I wanted. You know it’s been real helpful talking to you, Agent Gibbs.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I don’t want to turn Danny in … but I need to be able to live with myself.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t realise – but what I really want is to do my job. The job that I swore to do. And I reckon that maybe I’m not as strong as you, Agent Gibbs.”

“What?”

“I don’t think that I can decide for myself what’s right and what’s wrong. Oh, you’re right that sometimes the lines get blurred but most often they don’t. And I don’t think I’ve got the right, the authority to decide for myself which laws get upheld. And really, this time … well, I can’t get past the idea that what Danny did was wrong … and not just morally wrong but against the law. And if I let it go then I’m condoning it …”

“So, what you going to do?”

“I don’t want to do it … I don’t want to let Danny down, but I can’t persuade myself that he deserves my support because he’s already let _me_ down by being a dirty cop. So, I’m going to report to Internal Affairs … get them to investigate. And I’m fairly sure that they’ll find out Danny isn’t the only bad apple.”

“Your decision,” said Gibbs, “Shame, ‘cos I think you’d have worked out well at NCIS.”

“Appreciate the offer,” replied Tony.

“Maybe when it’s all settled down … get in touch,” offered Gibbs, “Don’t think I’ll be recruiting anyone anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” grinned Tony, “I can’t quite picture your interview process.”

“I’ll be heading out. You’ve got my number. Call me if you change your mind.”

“Will do. Don’t worry about driving me back to the station. I’ll get a cab.”

“You sure? Won’t take a minute.”

“That’s the problem, Agent Gibbs. I’d like it to take more than a minute. There was a reason, apart from the whole salmonella/botulism thing, that I ordered the ginger snaps – I felt like I was 7 years old again and throwing up in my mom’s car.”

“Your decision. Thanks for the help, Detective DiNozzo.”

“And thank _you_, Agent Gibbs. For everything.” Tony watched as Gibbs strode purposefully out of the diner. He realised that he _was_ grateful to Gibbs: the conversation had hardened his resolution to report to Internal Affairs but there was something else too. The conversation about _interpreting_ the law had unsettled Tony and the stony look in Gibbs’ eyes suggested to Tony that there was something in Gibbs’ past which might be something which would keep Tony up at night if he found out what it was.

No, he suspected that life would be tough at Baltimore for a while, but he reckoned he might just have dodged some other kind of bullet. He looked at his phone and deleted the _Navy Guy_ contact. Yeah, it was better that way. And perhaps he’d stock up with ginger snaps – _good memory_ food might be necessary to see him through the days and weeks to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want another version of how the Baltimore episode might have gone you might like to read chapter 7 of my first series of ‘When Tony Met Gibbs’ stories.


	4. Coffee shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted 20th February 2020
> 
> Spoilers for Season 9 episode Rekindled but, as always, this plays a lot with canon and timelines …

“Good morning, Sir! And it’s a beautiful one, isn’t it?” said the young barista cheerfully. He paused for a moment or two to allow a response but, when none come, continued happily enough, “And what can I get for you this morning?”

“Coffee.”

“Of course! And it will be a pleasure! Cappuccino?” He leaned forward and said confidentially, “That’s my specialty but, of course, I can make any of the drinks! Just tell me how you like them. Wet, dry …”

“Dry?”

“Of course, that won’t be a problem at all! One dry cappuccino coming up!”

“Wait!” came the gruff reply, “How can a coffee be dry? It’s got water in it, hasn’t it?”

The barista laughed, “Of course, Sir. Well, a _wet _cappuccino has more frothed milk and a _dry_ cappuccino has more steamed milk which makes it …”

“Stop! I don’t want a dry cappuccino …”

“Oh, OK! One wet cappuccino coming up!” said the barista with undiminished enthusiasm, “Would that be …”

“I don’t want a cappuccino. I just want coffee.”

“Just coffee?”

“Yes. Long and strong.”

“Of course, Sir! One long and strong coffee coming up! What milk would you like? We have non-fat, skim, 1%, 2%, whole milk or we have a range of non-dairy …”

“Black.”

“Oh, oh, I don’t think we have black milk,” the barista looked a little stricken at the thought of letting the customer down and then he correctly interpreted the stoic glare he was receiving, “Oh, I see! You mean you don’t want milk!” In response to the grim nod, he continued, “And what blend would you like, Sir? We have single origin Columbian, Kenyan, Vietnamese, Brazilian … or we have mild, medium, strong or dark blends!

“Dark?” said the customer, “I’ll go for that.”

“And what size would you like?”

“I said – long.”

“We have …”

“The biggest you’ve got.”

“OK! One venti coming up!”

“Make it two.”

“Of course! And how would your friend like their coffee?”

“Friend? They’re both for me. And put an extra shot in them.”

“Of course, Mr Gibbs!”

“How’d you know my name?” asked _Mr_ Gibbs.

“You’re wearing a name badge … I read it!”

“Huh,” Gibbs leaned forward and peered at the barista’s own name badge, “So, _Tony_, I’m not Mr Gibbs.”

“You’re not? Then why are you wearing his badge?”

“I’m _Gunnery Sergeant_ Gibbs,” corrected Gibbs.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t apologise,” snapped Gibbs.

“Sir?”

“And don’t call me _Sir_. I work for a living.”

“But …”

“And stop using so many exclamation points” ordered Gibbs who was now on a roll.

Tony stared back, obviously wondering what he was allowed to say. After a second or two of silence, he said (in a carefully neutral tone) “I’m guessing you don’t want any pastries?”

Gibbs couldn’t help but admire the kid’s staying power, “No, I don’t want any pastries!” He then caught sight of some cheese Danish and changed his mind, “I’ll have one of those.”

Tony nodded and hurried away to get Gibbs’ order. Gibbs watched him work, allowing himself to be soothed by the delicious smells of brewing coffee and the sight of his own coffee being efficiently made.

“Keep the change,” he ordered when Tony came back to the counter with coffee and Danish.

“Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs,” said Tony in another carefully low-key tone, “There’s sugar if you want it … we’ve got regular, all natural raw sugar or sweetener – we’ve got …” he trailed off as he realised that his customer had left.

“He’s a Marine,” said Mario the manager, “He’ll drink it black and strong. You’ll learn.”

“Wasn’t exactly cheerful, was he?” said Tony, “Is that a Marine thing too?”

“Could be,” shrugged Mario, “Hey, you’ve got a customer. Serve her and then go. You’ve got a class, haven’t you?”

Tony grinned. Mario seemed to know his schedule at OSU better than he did himself and made sure that his part-time work at the coffee shop didn’t make him miss any classes or practice.

“I’ll have a triple half-caff, low-fat, no foam latte with a caramel drizzle,” said his next customer.

Tony nodded – at last a customer worthy of his talents! He allowed himself an exclamation point!

XXXXXX

Mario wasn’t sure how it happened, but Tony soon found out that Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs – _Leroy_ _Jethro_ Gibbs – was on secondment to the Ohio State University Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps as Assistant Marine Officer Instructor. Tony made sure to anticipate when Gibbs would walk through the door and to have his order waiting for him – he also made sure to speak without exclamation points.

“Gunnery Sergeant,” he said politely, a few days later as he handed over the two coffees and the Danish.

“Just Gunny,” said Gibbs.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t have to call me Gunnery Sergeant. Gunny will do.”

“OK, Gunny!” said Tony with a pleased smile, “Oops, sorry.”

“What for?”

“I think an exclamation point might have got through …” said Tony sheepishly.

A rare grin cracked Gibbs’ face, “You’re OK. And I need another drink today …”

“You do! I mean, you do … you know, without any exclamation points ‘cos I know you’re not keen on them.”

“Yep. The secretary found out I get coffee here in the morning. Asked me to get her a …” Gibbs pulled out a scrap of paper from his pocket and peered at it, “Dry cappuccino, skimmed milk with cinnamon on top.” He shuddered as he gave the order.

“Sure, coming right up … er, what size?”

Gibbs looked blank at the thought of coffee coming in a size smaller than venti.

“Wait, is it for Sally?” asked Tony.

“How do you know about Sally?” asked Gibbs suspiciously.

“Good barista always gets to know his customers,” boasted Tony, “I know Sally is a secretary and she always has a cinnamon topped cappuccino. Didn’t know she worked that the NROTC though,” he added thoughtfully. Gibbs got the distinct impression that the additional information had been carefully stored away for future use. “She’ll have a tall,” he said confidently.

“So,” said Gibbs when Tony came back with the order, “You get to know all your customers?”

“Sure.”

“You think you’ve got to know me?”

“You’re a tough one, Gunny,” admitted Tony, “I mean, I know you’re a Marine. Some of the guys on the basketball team are in the NROTC – and they’ve said that you’re one of the good guys …”

“They do, do they?” said Gibbs drily.

“Oh yes,” said Tony earnestly, “Tough but fair. It’s almost a cliché really.”

“It is?”

“Well, you know – in the movies. The instructor is always tough but fair. A rough diamond with a heart of gold.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“I think so. I mean, I don’t know but you always leave a tip. You say thank you – and believe me some people don’t. And now I know that you don’t mind buying coffee for people even if it’s not the type you approve of. I think that makes you … kind.”

“Kind?” asked Gibbs with a sceptical raised eyebrow.

Tony gazed back, “Sure. I think you’re kind.”

“Huh.” Gibbs took the order and left quickly so Tony didn’t see the laugh waiting to break through.

Tony watched him go and decided it was probably a good thing that he had kept enough control of his motormouth that he had not revealed that Gibbs’ midshipmen also thought there was some tragedy in their training officer’s past.

XXXXXX

It was hard to define what developed between Tony and the Gunny: not a friendship but perhaps an unlikely sort of kinship. Certainly, Gibbs found that he almost looked forward to getting his coffee made by Tony; his unfailing cheerfulness was a good start to the day and Gibbs felt that the beverages seemed to taste better when made by Tony.

“Where’s Tony?” asked Gibbs when Tony had been absent for a couple of days running.

“Baltimore,” said Mario.

“Baltimore?”

“Sure, it’s the Final Four. Kid hasn’t been able to stop talking about it.”

“He’s in the team?”

“Captain. He’s good, you know. He’ll probably go pro.”

“What’s he doing making coffee here then?”

Mario shrugged, “Working his way through school. Got a couple of scholarships but not enough to give him a full ride. He’s a good kid. Customers like him,” he nodded knowingly at Gibbs who he knew had mellowed considerably in recent weeks.

“He makes good coffee,” said Gibbs brusquely, “Especially now he’s given up the exclamation points!” He raised his cup in salute and left.

Basketball wasn’t one of Gibbs’ preferred sports, but he made sure that weekend to track OSU’s progress and to watch the highlights programme. When he saw that they had narrowly lost, he subconsciously braced himself for a downhearted barista the next week.

“Gunny, got your order ready,” said Tony on the Monday. Gibbs sensed that, unusually, he wasn’t struggling to squash the exclamation points.

“Thanks. Hey, it was a good game on Saturday. You did well.”

“You watched it?”

“Some – the highlights. Didn’t know you played.”

Tony shrugged, “Not the sort of thing customers want to hear about. And you’re not exactly the chatty type.”

Gibbs shrugged in his turn, he couldn’t dispute that, “Still, it’s a big thing. Mario says you’re thinking of turning pro. That game will have helped with that, won’t it?”

“I guess.”

Gibbs left the coffee shop puzzled. He supposed that Tony was disappointed that his team hadn’t won but there didn’t seem to be any _buzz_ from what they had achieved. He had heard Tony chattering away to other customers other times and was surprised that he had been able to contain his excitement so easily.

At the end of the day when Gibbs walked to his car, he saw Tony waiting for him.

“This part of you knowing your customers?” he asked, “Knowing where I park?”

“NROTC office is here, makes sense this is where you park. And I see your car most mornings, so I knew what to look for,” replied Tony.

“Fair enough. Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. I’m guessing it’s not to bring me coffee.”

“No. I thought about it, but I figured it might be cold by the time you came out. Sorry.”

“I didn’t expect you to bring me coffee,” said Gibbs mildly, “What you want, Tony?”

Tony flushed, opened his mouth and then closed it again, “This was a bad idea!” said Tony, “I’ll go …”

“Stay! Tell me why you’re here.”

“You’re a Marine …”

“Last time I looked.”

“You’ve been deployed?”

“A few times.”

“Have you … have you ever killed anyone?”

“I was a sniper so, yes.” Gibbs’ eyes narrowed as he wondered if Tony had somehow managed to kill someone and was seeking a roundabout way of confessing. “Why do you want to know?”

Tony brushed his hair back in a sudden gesture of impatience. Gibbs spotted what looked like a burn on his forehead and realised that the lad looked tired and stressed.

“What’s going on, Tony?” he asked in a gentler tone, “You can tell me.”

Tony laughed breathlessly, “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

“I would hope not. What happened?”

“We were in Baltimore. The Final Four – but you know that. I went for a walk the night before – trying to get my head straight. You know, we’d spent so long working out strategy … studying the other players … and everyone was looking to me. I just needed to get away.”

Gibbs nodded. He thought he would have heard if one of the basketball team had been killed so wondered what Tony had to confess, “Go on.”

“And I was just walking along when I heard shouting. A building was on fire and there was a kid screaming. And there was no one else around …”

“And?”

“I ran in. And there was this little kid, crying. So, I picked him up and made for the door. There were loads of flames … and smoke … and it was crazy.”

“And you got the boy out?” Tony nodded. “That was good work, Tony. You should be proud.”

Tony continued as if he hadn’t heard Gibbs’ words, “And just as we’d got to the stairs, I heard more crying. Turned out that the kid was meant to be looking after his baby sister. She was in another room. He was screaming at me to go get her … and I tried …”

“But?”

“The way to her room was blocked. I couldn’t get through. The ceiling was about to come down … and I had the boy …”

“So you left her?”

Tony buried his face in his hands, “I didn’t think I had a choice. If I’d stayed, the boy would have died. But I killed her, Gunny! I killed her.” He lifted his eyes and looked despairingly at Gibbs.

“You didn’t kill her, Tony,” said Gibbs firmly, “You did what you could, and you saved her brother. This wasn’t your fault.”

“How do you know?” demanded Tony, “Maybe I could’ve got her out. If I’d tried harder – did I panic?”

“You didn’t panic.”

“How do you know? You weren’t there!”

“Because I know _you_, Tony. You’re quick and you’re strong – if it had been possible to get that little girl out, you would have. And you don’t panic – I watched you play in that game and you were cool, calm and in control. The guy I saw leading his team on the basketball court wouldn’t have panicked.”

“You sure? I keep reliving it over and over. I can’t get her screams out my head. And the little guy kicked me when I let him down outside. He was so mad. I can’t forget.”

“You won’t forget,” said Gibbs after a moment’s silence, “And you shouldn’t. You did something good. You made a difference. Sometimes you have to make a choice and sometimes you can’t make everything right. Like I said, you should be proud.”

Tony stared at Gibbs as if to try and see if he was telling the truth, “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. I’m proud of you, Tony and you should be proud too. You made a difference. Yes, you couldn’t save the little girl, but you saved the boy. Hold on to that.”

“Thanks, Gunny. I figured you’d know the answer.”

“Not sure about that, Tony. But I know a bit of what you’re going through. Make sure you don’t keep it bottled it up inside. Talk about it if it bothers you.”

“That what you’d do?” asked Tony with a hint of scepticism.

“Maybe, maybe not,” grinned Gibbs, “Now, can I give you a ride somewhere?”

XXXXXX

“Gunny?” said Tony in surprise. It was a few weeks later and Tony was lying in bed in the OSU Medical Centre.

“Mario told me you were in here,” said Gibbs, “Thought I’d drop by. Figured you might like some company.”

“You’ve come to talk?” asked Tony in continued surprise.

“Hey, I can talk,” protested Gibbs, “Brought you some magazines … and Mario sent you some of his pastries. Said he’d be in later.”

“Thanks,” Tony took the magazines, “Hey, _Woodworking Weekly, Boatbuilding Knowhow, Marine Monthly_. Great!”

“I can take them back if you don’t want them.”

“No, I want them!” Tony grasped them to his chest.

“What happened?” asked Gibbs, pointing at Tony’s leg in plaster.

“I zigged instead of zagging,” said Tony gloomily.

“How long you going to be out of action?”

“Three months – at least. Take time after that to build up strength.”

“But you’ll get there?”

“That’s what the doctors say.”

“That’s good then. Have your folks come yet?”

Tony picked at the blanket and didn’t look at Gibbs, “Only really got my Dad. I’ve got family in New York, but I haven’t seen them for a while. And I’ve got relatives in England but that’s a long way to come.”

“So, just your Dad to come. Sounds like me, I’ve only got my Dad now. Where does he live? He in New York too?”

“He lives in New York, but I don’t think he’s there now.”

“Excuse me?”

“He travels a lot – for work.”

“And you don’t know where he is? Don’t you keep in touch?”

“_I _keep in touch. Senior not so much.”

“Senior?”

“He’s Anthony DiNozzo – same name as me – so I’m Junior and he’s Senior.”

“Huh. So, you keep in touch, but your Dad doesn’t?”

“He’s busy. Last time I saw him he said something about going on a _wingding_ to Europe.”

“Wingding?”

“Yeah, he goes around trying to make deals. Says he’s an entrepreneur – he said he wants to get in on the art scene.”

“Sounds expensive. Going to Europe.”

“He’s got money, lots of it.” There was a hint of defiance in Tony’s voice which suggested to Gibbs that he wasn’t actually sure that his father was rich. Gibbs remembered that Mario had said that Tony was working his way through college.

“Still, he’ll come back to see you. While you’re in the hospital.”

“Yeah, sure. The hospital hasn’t been able to get in contact yet … but when they do … yeah, I’m sure he’ll come back.” The slump in Tony’s shoulders said something different.

“Your frat brothers will be in to see you,” said Gibbs.

Tony’s face brightened with a genuine pleasure, “They’ll have to tone it down though. Nurse Gregson has already warned them about _behaviour appropriate to a hospital_.”

Gibbs grinned; somehow, he could imagine the antics Tony’s friends would get up to.

“Gunny,” said Tony in a more serious tone, “Can I ask you something?”

“Seems like you already did.” Tony seemed to hesitate, so Gibbs relented, “Go on.”

“Do you think things are _meant_?”

“What?”

“You know. Bad things happen but they’re not always as bad as you think and sometimes they make you do something that turns out to be good?”

Gibbs gazed back stoically. In his experience so far, the terrible things that had happened in his life hadn’t led to anything good happening, but he didn’t want to cut Tony off, “Go on.”

“Well, my leg is pretty bad. The doctors are making happy noises but …”

“They wouldn’t lie to you, Tony.”

“I know. But even if it does get better, I reckon it’s going to be harder to convince clubs to take me on as a pro.”

“Harder but not impossible.”

“I know. And … well, I’m not sure I’m going to do it.”

“Can’t give up before you start, Tony. That way you’ll never get there.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m not sure I even want to try.”

“Not try to go pro? Why?”

“When the doctors told me I’d broken my leg well, I could see that they thought I’d be worried. And I was, I want to be able to use my leg again, but I felt kinda relieved as well.”

“Relieved?”

“Stupid, isn’t it? But I realised that it might mean I wouldn’t have to make a decision after all.”

“What decision?”

“Ever since Baltimore. When I rescued the kid … I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“What _I_ said?”

“About making a difference. That night was the first time I’d made a difference … I mean, I know I make great coffee and I make people smile in the coffee shop … and I’m good at sports … but that night I did something important.”

“And?”

“And it felt good. I mean, it didn’t feel good that the girl died but I knew I’d done something that mattered. And since then, I’ve been thinking that perhaps …”

“Perhaps?”

“Perhaps I don’t want to be a pro basketball player or a football player.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I think I want to be a cop. I figure they make a difference … and I like people, I’m interested in them. I think it would work, don’t you?”

“And that’s why you think breaking your leg …”

“Technically the Michigan player broke my leg,” interrupted Tony.

“OK, so you think that you leg getting broken was somehow _meant_ because it would make you become a cop?”

“Why not?”

_Why not_ indeed, thought Gibbs. He wasn’t sure that was how the universe worked but he found that he could easily picture Tony as a cop and as a good one. Perhaps Tony would make a difference after all.

“I guess it makes sense …”

“Thanks, Gunny. Not sure I’d have thought of it without you talking to me about the fire. You know, making it make some sense.”

Gibbs sat back in his chair as he tried to process this. He was still in shock from losing Shannon and Kelly and he didn’t think that their deaths were in any way compensated for by coming into Tony’s life but, for the first time, he began to think that good things could still happen in his life and that perhaps he also could make a difference. Perhaps his CO had been right to press him to take this posting rather than leave to take up a job with NIS: he had found that he almost enjoyed the challenge of the young NROTC candidates and had found some comfort in mentoring Tony.

“Gunny?” said Tony anxiously as Gibbs stared into space, “You OK?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Tony, I don’t know whether you having a broken leg was _meant_ or not, but I reckon that you being a cop sounds good to me.”

Tony beamed with relief, “I still think it was meant … _and_ _Magnum_ was my favourite show growing up and he was a sort of cop!”

Gibbs grinned – the exclamation points were back!


	5. Sherwood Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted 23rd February 2020
> 
> For those of you unfamiliar with the legend of Robin Hood there are some notes at the end of the chapter.

Bailiff Jethro was lost in thought as he rode through Sherwood Forest on a bright sunny day in the year 1242 The clement weather did not, alas, reflect his mood although he should have felt satisfied after a morning’s successful collection of rents on behalf of his master the Sheriff of Nottingham – he could feel the weight of the coins and hear their merry chink as he rode along.

Jethro sighed and then, coming out of his reverie, looked sharply towards his right as he heard rustling in the undergrowth. As he put his hand on his sword in readiness to fend off an attack, he was dealt a stunning blow from the left and he tumbled to the ground. Cursing himself for his lack of attention Jethro blinked as he looked up and saw three men dressed in Lincoln green smiling down at him. Jethro guessed their intent was not friendly as they were each holding a long bow and aiming an arrow at him.

Jethro was a man of few words and he saw no point in wasting any at that moment. In a few moments, he was hauled to his feet, relieved of his sword and dagger and had a sack put over his head. His hands and feet were roughly tied together, and he was flung on his stomach over his horse and his hands and feet lashed together under the horse’s belly. He cursed to himself even as he approved his captors’ efficiency.

Jethro felt the saddlebags being removed and wondered if this booty would satisfy the men and they would leave him helpless in the forest, but he soon realised they had other intentions as the horse was pulled purposefully behind them along bumpy tracks. It was hard to keep track of time, but Jethro thought it was at least an hour before the men came to a halt. He tensed, ready for the next stage of his ordeal and ready to fight if need be.

His preparedness was not immediately needed, however as it seemed that his captors were more interested in counting the gold and silver they had collected – he could hear the sound of coins being poured out. Jethro was surprised to find that he was disgruntled at being thought of being of less importance than the money. Some time passed – time in which his anger, and discomfort, grew until finally he heard someone speak,

“But men, we’re forgetting our duties towards our guest!”

Jethro heard a chorus of laughter and tried to tamp down his irritation.

“Take him down,” ordered the unknown man, “But leave his hands and feet tied … I have a feeling that he may be a tricky one.”

The rope attaching his hands to his feet was untied – and again, Jethro found himself approving the action. It was far better to spend a moment or two untying a knot than cutting a rope. Firm hands dragged him a few paces and he was thrust down to sit on a log and the sack pulled from his head. He shook his head and blinked against the light. Jethro saw that he was sitting in a large clearing with huts around the edges. The three men who had ambushed him stood beside a tall young man also dressed in the same Lincoln green. Other people could be seen in the huts, but they didn’t seem unduly interested in what was going on.

“Bailiff Jethro,” said the young man, “Welcome to our camp.”

“Huh,” said Jethro. He recognised the man’s voice as the one who had given the orders so far, “You have the advantage of me …”

“He’s a canny one,” remarked the man to his fellows, “He knows he’s at our mercy.”

“Not what I meant,” said Jethro coolly, “I meant that I don’t know your name.”

The young man put a hand to his heart in shock, “You disappoint me! I thought _everyone_ would know my name.”

“Not me,” Jethro shrugged, “And it would be useful to know it.”

“Indeed?”

“The sheriff keeps good records. He’d want to know the name of the person he’d sent to the gallows for kidnapping one of his officials.”

The men laughed cheerily at this riposte but the young man recovered first, “Well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience my esteemed friend the Sheriff of Nottingham,” he said solemnly, “So I will tell you that my name is Robin of Locksley – although you might know me as Robin Hood.”

“Huh,” said Jethro in an unimpressed voice.

“Is that all you have to say?” asked Robin.

“What else do you want me to say?” asked Jethro managing to give the impression that he was slightly bored.

“I don’t know. Some people start shaking when they find out who I am.”

“Huh.”

Robin laughed, “Men, we have a doughty fellow before us. He’s not impressed!”

“Perhaps we should dangle him in yon river for a time,” suggested a man of Moorish appearance.

Another young man chipped in, “Or toast his toes? That might liven him up!”

Jethro looked at them disdainfully and stretched out his legs in a relaxed manner.

“Now, now,” said Robin reproachfully, “The Bailiff is our guest,” he called out, “Brother Donald, bring something for our guest to refresh himself with.”

An elderly friar emerged from one of the huts, “I was already on my way,” he declared in a slightly fussy manner, “But I was just waiting for the bread to have cooked to perfection. I also have some cheese that was brought in from … but I daresay it would be better if I did not divulge from where we get our supplies?” He paused and beamed at his audience, “Now, Bailiff Jethro would you prefer a mug of small beer or I have some excellent wine which, I fear, was destined for the Sheriff’s table …”

“Wine.”

“Even though you know it belongs to the Sheriff?” asked Robin mockingly.

“I think that means I’m more entitled to it than you,” replied Jethro. He accepted the wine from Brother Donald and took a measuring sip. He then set to on the bread and cheese, determined to show that his appetite was not diminished by fear.

Robin looked at him measuringly and, with a nod to the friar, took his own food and wine and sat down opposite Jethro, “You are new to Sherwood?”

“No,” said Jethro.

“I haven’t seen you before although word of your efficiency has reached me.”

“Not my fault. You can’t have been looking in the right places.”

“Hmm. Then you are new to the role of bailiff – of that I am sure.”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing before?”

“Does it matter?”

“Indulge me, I am curious. And my men are restless, and I may _indulge_ them and allow them to _play_ with you. I suspect they would be very inventive.”

Jethro chewed his piece of bread very slowly to show he was not frightened by these threats and then shrugged, “I have recently returned from the Holy Land.”

“Ah! I thought you might be a military man!”

“Because I said I’ve returned from the Holy Land? How do you know that I have not been on a pilgrimage?”

Robin gazed at him, the laughter gone from his grey-green eyes, “Forgive me but you have more of the air of a soldier than a pilgrim. The way you sit, the look in your eyes … my men told me that you were well armed …”

“Not well armed enough,” said Jethro drily.

“Indeed,” Robin frowned, “You would have been well advised to heed the warnings about the dangers of the forest.”

“I don’t listen to idle tales.”

“And it was foolhardy to ride through the forest on your own. Especially after gathering so much coin,” Robin’s face hardened.

“I’ll make sure to have an escort next time,” said Jethro blandly.

“But I was right, was I not? you are a former soldier?” Jethro nodded. “Did you get to Jerusalem?” asked Robin eagerly.

“I saw it, yes.”

“Is it how they say it is?”

“Don’t know. I don’t know how they say it is,” said Jethro indifferently but then he relented when he saw the passion in Robin’s face, “But I found it … impressive.”

Oddly the simple words seemed to satisfy Robin and he nodded, “Whose army were you with?”

“Richard of Cornwall. I served under the command of Michael the Frank.”

“I know you are!” said Robin suddenly, “You are the son of Jackson the tavern owner … over Edwinstowe way.”

“I am.”

Robin frowned, “Jackson is a good man.”

“He is.”

“He speaks proudly of you …” the puzzlement was clear in Robin’s face.

“So, you wonder why I work for the Sheriff of Nottingham?”

“He is not a good man,” said Robin flatly.

“It is not for me to judge. He treats me fairly.”

Jethro expected a hot response, but Robin simply blinked and stood up, “I will leave you to your victuals.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” asked Jethro as his captor turned to go.

“Afraid that I will let my men have their way with you?”

Jethro stared up at the tall young man, “No, I don’t think you will do that.”

Robin nodded but simply said, “Drink your wine. Brother Donald will bring you more if you want it.”

XXXXXX

As night fell, Jethro was tied to a tree but given a blanket against the chill and one of the men was assigned as his guard.

“Have you really been to the Holy Land?” asked the eager young man.

Jethro blinked and nodded.

“I yearn to go …”

“Why don’t you?” asked Jethro.

“I get seasick. I tried to cross the Channel once, but the waves were too high, and we had to turn back … and I never tried again.”

Jethro grinned, “I was sick the first time I left these shores,” he admitted.

“Does it get better?”

“For some; not for everyone.”

“Huh …” said the lad disappointedly.

“What’s your name?”

“Ti – I mean, Will – Will Scarlett.”

“Will is our minstrel,” came Robin’s voice as he drew near.

“You need a minstrel?” queried Jethro.

“Will keeps our accounts as well. He is a master of the abacus, but he loves to write as well, do you not, _Will?”_

Will nodded, “I am working on a ballad about our work.”

“Your _work_?” asked Jethro sceptically, “You call preying on unwary travellers through the forest _work_?”

“Will, get some rest,” ordered Robin, “There will be much to do tomorrow. You have all the money from the bailiff’s money bags to make provision for.”

Will scowled at Jethro but got up obediently and left the two men alone. Robin held out a mug of ale to Jethro and then sat down opposite him,

“You puzzle me, Bailiff Jethro,” he said after taking a swallow of his own ale.

“Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“You went to the Crusades – you fought for a noble cause …”

“Didn’t always seem so noble when I was there.”

Robin didn’t seem shocked, “No, I suppose not but I’m guessing you didn’t know that before you left. Your father said you went off happily – believing in what you were doing.”

“I followed a good man. Not everyone understood Michael the Frank, but he was an honourable man.”

“Was?”

“He died near Acre. Died in my arms.”

“Was that when you came home?”

“Richard of Cornwall came home. I was under his command, so I came too.”

“Because you’re a soldier? And you follow orders?”

“Yes.”

“Not because you no longer believed in what you were fighting for?”

“It was time.”

“And how did you end up in the employ of the Sheriff?”

“Why are you interested?”

“I like to work out puzzles.”

“So I should indulge you in this as well?”

“What harm can it do to tell me? You know, I think I will rename you …”

“Yes?”

“It should be Jethro the Silent, not Jethro the Bailiff.”

“Michael the Frank gave me a letter of recommendation. He had fought with the Sheriff’s late father … he thought it would be a good position for me.”

“Are you happy in the work?”

“What does that matter?”

“I just wonder how a soldier – a person of honour – sworn to defend the helpless can _enjoy_ extorting money from the poor and destitute.”

Jethro shrugged, “Times are hard. And I do not _extort_ money. I uphold my master’s rights.”

“But you don’t enjoy the work …” this time it was a statement rather than a question.

Jethro shrugged again and took a gulp of his beer. Silence fell but after a few minutes, Jethro spoke, “And what about you? Who are you?”

“I told you, I’m Robin of Locksley – Robin Hood.”

“No. No, you’re not,” said Jethro flatly.

“What d’you mean? Who do _you_ think I am?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t have asked if I knew. You forget, I come from Edwinstowe. I grew up with the stories of Robin Hood and his _Merrie Men_.”

“So?”

“So, the stories are from the time when Richard Lionheart was on the throne and he’s been dead for more than 40 years.”

“And?”

“And unless you’re going to tell me that living under the greenwood gives you eternal youth … well, I don’t think you’ve been here for four decades!”

_Robin _grinned, “He is still alive … the real Robin …”

“Hmm?”

“But he finds sleeping on the ground and living outdoors too much now so he lives in the friary that Brother Donald belongs to.”

“And you? Are you his son?”

A wistful look passed over Robin’s face, “I wish he was my father but no, I am not that fortunate.”

“Then who are you? And what are you doing in the forest?”

“When Robin realised he was getting too old he decided he needed a substitute. The legend and stories around Robin Hood are powerful – they have their own life, so it seemed a good idea to keep the legend alive with new people …”

“So, Will Scarlett?”

“Is actually Timothy. His father is a master mariner. I fear Tim is a disappointment to him …”

“Because he gets seasick?”

“Yes. And if you should ever talk of your stay here then talk of Friar Tuck and not Brother Donald. The old names keep the legend alive and act as our protection too.”

Jethro frowned as he tried to recall the old stories of his childhood, “And Little John? Who is he?”

“Alas, we could find no one of his physical stature but Leon – the Moor – is mysterious in other ways to the local folk and makes a good substitute. Jamie, the Palmer’s son, is Much the Miller’s son – he’s the one who wanted to toast your toes but actually he is one of the gentlest people I know and he is more likely to talk you to death than torture you. He is learning to be an apothecary – Brother Donald has many skills.”

“And was there not a Maid Marian?”

Robin laughed but also winced, “Aye, we have a substitute there as well, but she refuses to be called _Maid_ Marian. Our Kate says it is nobody’s business whether or not she is a maid and she scorns the idea of being subservient to a man. She has unusual ideas and she is not always easy to get on with. When we are playing our parts, we can only call her _Mistress_ Marian. But she is dear to us … and very beautiful,” said Robin with a faraway look in his eyes.

Jethro decided he was not interested in possible romantic attachments that might be happening in the forest but turned to something more pressing in his view, “And you, who are you?”

“I am the son of Anthony of Padding …”

“He is one of the king’s most powerful supporters,” said Jethro, “And a great landowner.”

“Aye, he is rich and influential. He disowned me when I was 12.”

“Why?”

“My mother died when I was 8. My father married again, and his new wife did not like the idea that I would prevent any child of hers from succeeding to my father’s chair.”

“And were there such children?”

Robin laughed bitterly, “Not that I have heard. The great castle is a lonely place. But my father never cared for me – I think he blamed me for my mother’s death. He resented the fact that she loved me more than she loved him … who knows? What I do know is that he took me on a journey into the forest and when I awoke in the morning he had gone. I was lucky that Robin found me and cared for me.”

“So, what is _your _name?”

“I am Anthony … my mother was from Italy and I took her name when my father disowned me … so I am known as Anthony DiNozzo – or Tony.”

“You will be rich when your father passes?”

“I have no interest in his money. I have seen how the poor suffer at the hands of the wealthy – I will not be part of it. And besides, he has adopted my cousin Crispian as his heir. I have no standing.”

“What will become of you? When you also are too old to live outdoors?”

“I will go to my mother’s family in Italy. She used to talk to me of vineyards and olive groves … of blue skies and warmth. It seemed like paradise the way she described it.”

“Why did you tell me all this?”

“Because you asked,” said Tony innocently.

“Try again,” said Jethro brusquely.

“Because, as I said before, you puzzle me. The man of honour your father speaks of - doing the dirty work of the Sheriff.”

“I have to work.”

“Your father suggested that you had fought before and earned good money. Money enough that you would be able to buy land on your return – besides what you would inherit from him. The Stillwater tavern brings in a good income.”

“I have no desire to run a hostelry … or to farm.”

“I think you believed that Michael the Frank would choose wisely for you, but you have found that things have gone awry since he knew your employer’s father. I think you find it all distasteful and dishonourable.”

“You do, do you?”

“Yes, I do. And your father has many stories of your skills as a soldier … and yet, after a busy day of collecting rents, you chose to ride alone through the forest.”

“So, I was careless? So what, we all make mistakes.”

“That’s true and perhaps I’ve made a mistake confiding in you … in which case you may pay the price, but I still wonder if you were …”

“Were what?”

“I’m not sure. Seeing what would happen. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind too much if the rents were stolen …”

“Go on.”

“And it occurs to me that we could work together.”

“Yes?”

“We could perhaps _ambush_ you sometimes and steal your takings. And you might have knowledge of the work of the Sheriff’s other bailiffs so we wouldn’t have to steal from _you_ all the time.”

“That’s an interesting thought,” said Jethro taking another swallow of beer.

“What say you?”

“It would mean betraying my oath of loyalty to the Sheriff.”

“Does he deserve your loyalty?”

Jethro stared at him, “No, no he doesn’t. I am ashamed to work for him and fill his filthy coffers.”

“Jethro, did you plan all this?”

Jethro shook his head, “No … plan is the wrong word. My gut told me that something might happen if I came through the forest, so I dismissed the servants. But truth to tell, when your men captured me, I was wool-gathering and they took me by surprise. I suppose at most I hoped that if I was robbed then the Sheriff would dismiss me for incompetence, and I would be free.”

“He might still do so,” observed Tony drily.

“No,” said Jethro confidently, “He’s afraid of me – he won’t get rid of me if I don’t want to be got rid of.”

“So, you’ll join us?”

“Steal from the rich and give to the poor?” Jethro raised a sceptical eyebrow. Tony simply watched and waited. “Yes,” said Jethro, “I’ll join you and do better work than I have done these many days.”

“And when you are too old for this life?”

“Perhaps I will travel to this Italy you speak of and warm my tired bones.”

“But not yet,” said Tony as he raised his flagon, “Not yet … there is work to be done. And sheriffs to outwit!”

Jethro lived up to his new name and said nothing – he simply nodded and raised his own flagon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The legend of Robin Hood and his Merrie Men (plus Maid Marian) is often set in the reign of Richard 1 in England towards the end of the 12th century. A band of outlaws led by Robin Hood (the dispossessed Lord Locksley) lived in Sherwood Forest and robbed the rich and gave the money to the poor. Among the outlaws was Little John (a very tall man), Friar Tuck, Will Scarlet and Much the Miller’s son. The outlaws wore Lincoln green and their main enemy was the Sheriff of Nottingham. Robin Hood has been the subject of many TV shows and films.


End file.
